I tested the world’s most expensive toilet yesterday, and my verdict is: What a way to go!

At a jaw-dropping $5,000, the Neorest is a sleek, high-tech commode that automatically opens and closes the lid, cleans and dries the user like a baby, and flushes with a reassuring “whoosh.”

But it’s not for the average, er, nincompoop: Even if you use it 5,000 times, that’s still a whopping buck a flush.

“It’s mostly for the high-end user,” said a representative for Japan-based manufacturer Toto International.

But spending some quality time with this john for jet-setters is a comfy, cozy experience that makes answering the call of nature a pleasure.

As I approached the Neorest, which is on display at the Brass Center, 248 E. 58th St., it greeted me by automatically lifting up its lid.

Next, I sat down and had a cheeky encounter with the pre-heated, toasty-warm toilet seat, which was much more satisfying than my chair at work.

Gee, I thought, I could perch here all day.

A few minutes later, I pressed the bidet-like water-spray button to clean myself up, but the stream was a bit chilly on the tush.

No problem. I just pushed the thermostat to raise the temperature to a lukewarm delight. Lovely.

As the spray did its job with its “oscillating massage” action, I thumbed through the Neorest’s 48-page instruction book – a manual so detailed, it would put some computer guides to shame.

But the best was yet to come. Clicking another knob on the Space Age control panel turned on the temperature-controlled air dryer. It felt wonderful and, wow, no messy toilet paper to deal with.

I then got up and, voila, the Neorest quiet-flushed itself. There wasn’t even a need to spray the room with Lysol because a “catalytic air deodorizer” did the job for me.

My new friend then considerately closed the lid – something women have bugged me about for years.

What’s also cool is that for a family literally on the go, there’s no waiting to use it – since the hopper has no reservoir that needs to refill after each flush. And there’s a special “white noise” control that masks those embarrassing bathroom sounds.

After years of dealing with the stained, decades-old toilet in my apartment, with its low water pressure and dubious flushing capability, trying the Neorest was like going from a 1969 VW Beetle to a 2004 Rolls-Royce.

Of course, at five grand, I’m not buying it any time soon, although Toto tells me they expect to sell 1,000 units a month.

But there’s no question that as I was sitting there, I felt like a king on my throne.